14 March 1935

BATTLE ROYAL AT MIDNIGHT 

Why Rabbadani Singh Gave Up Camels

Most Indian hawkers that one came across in the northern part of the State some years ago used either horses or donkeys to draw their covered vans, which were such a welcome sight to outback residents in those days. 

Occasionally, however, one came across a hawker who used camels in harness. Such a one was Rabbadani Singh, who traded tor many years from Beltana northward. He was a Sikh, not an Afghan, as many supposed, and his engaging nature and dignified bearing made him a welcome visitor right throughout the north. 

Rabbadani was a youth of fifteen when he arrived in Australia with an uncle who was killed a few years later. The latter's team and caravan were taken over by Rabbadani, who, being familiar with his late relative's round and trade, carried on, and built up a very extensive custom. 

Many a lonely prospector well out of tea, flour, and the mainstay of life, tobacco, would dance with joy as the familiar camel bells were heard in the distance, for Rabbadani used camels only. He said they reminded him of his homeland. 

Through constant association with English-speaking people Rabbadani gradually acquired a good knowledge of that language, and he also taught himself to read and write. He was thus able to educate himself, and he ultimately spoke such excellent English that it was a pleasure to listen to him. 

It was nearing sunset at the Point, and riders and station hands were finishing tor the day. Their horses were being stabled and fed. The cook was whistling at his work, and the 'boss' was watering a small plot of flowers and shrubs in which he took a great pride. Everything was calm and peaceful and as the shadows deepened we heard the tinkle of camel bells. 

'Rabbadani!' yelled Curly the head stockman. 'Now you blighters can keep your mouldy, rotten tobacco.' 

The boss's wife came out of the house to satisfy herself that the opportunity to secure, a fresh supply of soap and spices was really at hand. Soap, by the way, is always a highly valued and limited commodity on a northern homestead. 

As the team and caravan pulled into the yard a crowd gathered round, and commenced the usual inquiries for news of neighbors and the south. Papers and magazines, well worn and doubtless read and relished by all of his customers, were distributed and eagerly scanned. A spare horse stall was made ready for the camels, and a billy of tea was brought out by the cook for Rabbadani to refresh him self. 

No Hindu or Afghan who conforms to the rules of his religion will eat at the same table as white persons; so while we ate our meal in the house and read the papers Rabbadani cooked his in the kitchen and retired to his caravan to eat it. After he had eaten it he had a smoke, and when he thought that we had finished he came along to the house for a game of cards, of which he was very fond. It was well past midnight when we finally decided to turn in. 

Rabbadani always slept in his caravan, and shortly after he had left the house we heard his voice raised in anger.

 'Vile beasts! Ungodly creatures! Son and daughter of evil! Violators of man's peace and serenity!' Those were some of the expressions that reached our ears. 'May you suffer all the tortures of a million purgatories,'' he continued. 'May you be cast loose in boundless, waterless deserts, and your stomachs be filled with salt, there to die the death, you rightly deserve; you ill-bred, bad-tempered offspring of a thousand generations of evil and contaminated horrors.' This was followed by an equally wrathful tirade in his native tongue. We ran down to the stables to see what was happening. 

The sight that met our eyes convulsed us with laughter. There was Rabbadani, his long hair flying about his shoulders, wielding a heavy stick and having a battle royal with his camels, which had escaped from the stall and had started to raid the caravan. 

Clothes, towels, sheetings, combs, mouth organs, tobacco, flour, and other articles were scattered all over the yard, and, to crown it all, Fatima and Ali were having a battle with one another as well. Rabbadani was hitting them with the stick, and dodging their heels and jaws as they snapped and kicked at him and one another in turn. In between blows, volumes of abuse, both in cultured Eng lish and Hindustani, came from the angry Sikh. 

It was so funny that it was quite five minutes before we felt capable of rendering assistance. It was Curly who finally settled the trouble. Securing his stockwhip, he brought the camels to their senses in a few minutes. Cracking his whip about their heels, he drove them back to their stalls, and shut them in. 

Rabbadani looked the picture of misery as he surveyed the damage. The sides of the caravan were torn, the canvas hanging in strips. We all turned to and did our best to straighten up the wreck. 

Next morning Rabbadani approached the boss and apologised profusely for the unrefrained language he had used during the night. He also wished to buy horses suitable for hauling the caravan. Fortunately for him, the boss had a surplus of horses, and sold him two medium stamped roadsters, which gave him years of service and satisfaction. The boss also agreed to sell the camels if possible, and he was able to hand Rabbadani five pounds for them, the following autumn, when he again visited the Point. That experience cured Rabbadani of his affection for camels. He never used them again, sticking to horses until he retired several years ago, and returned to India, to spend his remaining days. — 'Memorabilia.' 

Why Old Joe Married

Old Joe was a bachelor who took a malicious interest in the domestic quarrels of every married couple in the district, always drawing attention to the fact that nobody made a happy bachelor's life a misery to him. 

He owned a nice little farm and had a good bank balance, which made him greatly sought after by husband-hunting women, but he resisted all their wiles to entrap him. 

On his farm was an old mine shaft which he used as a well. One morning he saw the sheep clustered around the trough. 'There's the blessed mill gone bung again,' he growled, and, harnessing a horse to the sulky, he loaded up a rope, bucket and tools, and drove down to the old mine. 

After ascertaining what was wrong with the mill and that it would take half a day to repair it, he began to bucket water out of the shaft in order to give the thirsty sheep some to go on with. 

A little later a neighbor drove along the nearby road and saw the horse, harnessed to the sulky, grazing in the paddock. When he went past again on the following morning the horse was still harnessed to the sulky and all the sheep were clustered about the trough. 

Guessing that something was the matter, he tied his horse to the fence and hurried over to the old mine, to find that the old timbers which covered the shaft were broken, as if someone had fallen through. 

He shouted, and a feeble answer came up from below. After making sure that old Joe was in no danger of drowning, the neighbor raced away to get help. 

A quarter of an hour later they hauled the old chap up, nearly dead as a result of immersion for 24 hours in the cold water, and with a broken leg into the bargain. He explained what had happened on the way to the hospital. 'I was hauling water up with the rope and bucket,' he said, 'Without any warning those planks broke, and the next second I was falling down the old mine, with the rope and some lumps of wood for company. My leg got busted when I hit that pipe-stay and it seemed as though I was there, hanging on to the pipe, for about a week at least up to my neck in freezing water.' 

As soon as the old chap was able to hobble about on crutches he went over to the home of a little spinster, who had long ago given up all hopes of marriage, and asked her to marry him. The wedding took place a month later, and after his return from the honeymoon Joe came in for some unmerciful ragging from his friends, who confronted him with everything he had ever said against marriage. 

He listened to them all then replied, 'I don't go back on a word of what I said about married life— it's all true. But I'll admit this. If I'd been married when I had that accident, do you think I would have stopped for long down that old mine? Not on your life. My missus would have come down to it within a few hours to roar me up for not coming home to dinner. But being a bachelor I had to stop down it until someone chanced along— and if Ted hadn't tumbled to something being wrong I might have died down there. That's why I gave in at last and got married. I wanted someone living with me who'd come out to look for me if I ever had another accident.'  

It is only fair to add that Joe's choice of wives was a good one, and that the marriage was a happy one as far as both were concerned.— 'Boga-duck.' 

Two Blacks And A 'Blackout' 

Far out from Bookabie, near Fowler's Bay, two blooded Aborigines had a strange experience while returning for a week-end at the settlement, after having worked on the Fowler's Bay Vermin Board's fence. They had as a companion a half-caste, a big, stout man, who had long been known to suffer from, an obscure disease, which sometimes caused him to go to sleep standing. He also suffered from a weak heart. 

The three of them were jogging along in their camel buggy when, at 10 o'clock at night, with many miles yet to go, the half-caste suddenly died as he sat on the buggy seat. Natives fear the dead, and a dead body always gives them the 'creeps' badly. 

They laid their companion down on the floor of their vehicle, and whipped up their camels along the lonely bush track, which was lighted by a brilliant full moon. Mile after mile across the desolate plain they went, and as they looked back over their shoulders ever and anon, they were very thankful for the bright moonlight. Frightened as they were, it would have been worse without the moon. 

Truth is stranger than fiction, and this flight of the two badly scared natives, with their grim cargo, took place on the night of a total eclipse of the moon. 

Towards midnight the earth's black shadow crept slowly across the disc of the moon, and the light began to change. Slowly the silver radiance ebbed away, from the landscape, and darker and darker became the night. The weird half-light changed almost imperceptibly to almost pitch darkness, and gaunt trunks of trees, previously standing clear against the night sky, now loomed past through a ghostly envelope of intense gloom. No native likes a phenomenon such as an eclipse. They regard it as super natural; something that is the work of debil-debil or bunyip; something to be held in dread. 

Coincidence, or not, fate, kismet, or whatever name our Australian aborigines might have for it, circumstances had combined to give the two natives returning from their isolated job the greatest fright of their lives. 

The police officer, who told me the story, and whose duty it was to report the death of the half caste, said that be had never seen two more abjectly unnerved or badly shaken individuals in his life than those two Aborigines by the time they had reached the township.— 'Mu-ratta.' 

Beating The Bookmaker 

Two well-known identities in a small far northern township were Jim and Tim, experienced camel drivers, and both were extremely proud of their teams. 

One day Jim passed Tim having trouble at a partly dried up creek, and being the first in with his load was loud in his jeers. Tim, somewhat annoyed, offered to back any of his animals against any one of Jim's. The challenge was taken up by the residents, who were ever ready for a little fun, and a day was fixed for the race. 

The keeper of the local hotel acted as bookmaker, and heavy bets were laid on either side. As the odds appeared about even, great excitement prevailed on the day of the race, and the whole township turned out to see the fun. 

Tim's camel got the best start, and during the first lap was several lengths in front of Jim's. This was too much for one of the spectators, who had betted heavily on the other animal. As the leading camel came abreast of him he rushed in front of it, waving his arms and shouting, 'Hooshta! hooshta!' (the Hindu word used to cause the camels to kneel). 

Down knelt the camel in the sand, and for some time neither the prayers nor the curses of its rider could induce it to rise again. By the time Tim succeeded in getting it going again Jim's camel had come in an easy winner. 

There were many free fights in the little town that night, and for months afterwards one had only to say 'Hooshta' in the bar of the hotel to ensure a heated argument. — W.J.H.